


Forte Fortissimo

by MerchantOfVenice



Category: British Comedy RPF
Genre: British cabaret, F/M, Friskish if you squint, Frisky and Mannish, Tattoo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-25
Updated: 2013-07-25
Packaged: 2017-12-21 07:55:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 980
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/897819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MerchantOfVenice/pseuds/MerchantOfVenice
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They really weren't his thing, but he couldn't bring himself to hate those three little "f"s.<br/>Mannish ponders Frisky's tattoo.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Forte Fortissimo

**Author's Note:**

> I know nothing about these people's lives. The plot is completely fictional and thus likely to be highly inaccurate, so please don't treat any of this as fact.

He wouldn't say his values were that traditional.

Look at him, he's hardly your average British bloke, despite a tendency towards cinicism and love of tea. His views are relaxed and open, and he's hardly one to criticise people for their life choices.

But there is something about permanently scarring your body with ink that he has just never understood.

He is all for piercings, as long as they didn't look _too_ painful, he doesn't mind how people dress, be it boring or out-right ludicrous, he certainly doesn't complain about hairdye, but tattoos are something he has never "got", and has never felt anything but disgust towards the very prospect.

Well, with one obvious exception.

He remembers when she got it. It was slightly spur-of-the-moment. When she'd announced the idea, he had immediately expressed his dislike of it, informing her that it was tacky, permanent, and when she was an old woman, she'd bitterly regret it. She had politely thanked him for his input, then promptly told him to stick his prissy, uptight views up his-

Anyway she hadn't listened, in a way, he was glad of that.

Honestly, it wasn't that bad. The first time he saw it minutes after it had been injected there, his stomach had turned with the finality of it. No going back, it, or a scar if it came to that, would be there forever. After a week or so, however, he started to warm up to it. It didn't make him shudder to look at, and the fact she seemed to be very happy with it also helped.

Well, it was her body. Over time he'd acclimatised and now he barely notices it; it's part of her now. And he doesn't hate it, in fact, quite the opposite. It couldn't be more _her_. As far as tattoos go, it is an intelligent one. The curled, italicized text indicates music immediately, and the dynamic the three "f"s represent is Laura in a musical term. He'd actually never played a forte fortissimo piece, but he reckons the experience must be something like being on stage with her. Of course, it is also her cabaret alter-ego's initials; a nice coincidence.

It was on that exact spot, over the black ink under her skin, where he had touched her lightly, reassuringly, before they went on stage to perform one of their earlier tours for the first time, and again just before their last show of the same tour months later. It was the skin he'd watched her trace lightly with her opposite index finger when talking to others about her job. It was the place he'd pressed his fingers against to take her pulse when she got a fever. The very tattoo that he had hated within the first few minutes of it being there.

He remembers vaguely being half-carried home by her one night, too drunk to walk in a straight line on his own. The details were fuzzy, but one thing that he remembers was those three little "f"s, standing out in black against the pale skin of her inner wrist, boldy reassuring, something to focus on to stop himself passing out. In that moment he was thankful for it.

Recently there is an overhanging feeling of future prospects. They're doing well, better than they ever have and their little show is growing bigger and bigger with each performance, but they both know they can't do this forever. To him it feels like they've only just started, but it's there, unspoken and ignored but the elephant in the room; how much longer will we keep doing this? There's only so far a silly little cabaret act can climb, no matter how good it is. Neither want to talk about it, and that's fine with him for now, but sometimes she'll look at him like she's savouring the moment, there and then, like it's drawing to a close, and it gives him a sinking feeling in his stomach. One day, when they're older and wiser, they'll be different people. Knowing Laura, she'll be married and maybe she will have let her hair go brown again and settled down into something more serious, and perhaps she won't sing anymore, unless it's just to herself, and maybe they'll live too far apart to maintain the current level of closeness their friendship has.

The thought, although pondering the future should make him happy, causes him to swallow hard and dismiss it instantly. It's inevitable, he guesses, but it doesn't have to be imminent, it all seems a little too big and scary and lonely.

And that's the reason he's most grateful that she didn't listen to him. Everything about her could change; her hair, her voice, her home, her job, her family, even her character, but one thing never will. Laura will spend the rest of her life, however she choses to live it, with three "f"s marked on the inside of her left wrist, linking her intrinsically to right here right now. She'll look down and smile, and no doubt think of him and this little life they've forged for themselves. It will remind her of Frisky, of the mad woman she used to be, different to Laura, but similar in a lot of ways. No matter what comes and goes, she will always be physically linked to Frisky, and therefore Mannish, and for that, he's grateful.

Matthew laughs quietly to himself at his own train of thought and draws his attention away from his best friend's left hand. Honestly, sometimes he thinks his Oxford degree in English is comlpetely wasted on his current profession. He meets her eyes and she offers a casual smile while she applies her glittery red lipstick in the dressing room mirror, and his thoughts drift back to what her thinking was behind getting the tattoo:

"It's just so cabaret!"


End file.
